


The Mede Ambassador

by ama



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Courtship, F/M, Family, Father Figures, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Marriage, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Politics, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: Or, four times someone suspected that the princess of Attolia was in love with the Mede ambassador, and one time someone learned the truth.





	1. Kamet

Kamet did not bustle to the small audience room--he was the Secretary of the Archives, and he did not  _ bustle _ anywhere. He glided through the corridors of the palace with elegance and dignity, and no one would guess, from looking at him, that a steady stream of curses was pouring from his mouth.

It simply  _ had _ to happen when the king and queen were gone, on a royal trip to Sounis. Naturally.

In their absence, Her Royal Highness Theodora Eugenides, Crown Princess of Attolia, was holding court. The princess was young, still, but she was clever and much beloved by the court, more so than either of her parents when they had first begun to rule. The audience chamber was packed with people who had come only to get a glimpse of her.

Kamet slipped into the room through a side entrance and approached the throne. Costis, standing over Theodora’s shoulder, spotted the grim look on his face and flashed a questioning frown, but Kamet only shook his head.

Theodora was in the midst of a conversation with the minister of agriculture, and Kamet waited until she had finished speaking before he stepped to her side and bent his head. She held up a hand to forestall the minister.

“Your Highness, I have just received word from the docks,” Kamet said lowly in her ear. “The Mede ambassador has arrived.”

Her dark eyes widened slightly and she turned to face him more completely.

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to arrive for another week.”

“So we believed, Your Highness. It could be the weather was unexpectedly good in Zabrisa, and the ship departed early, or…”

“Or they planned to arrive when the king and queen were gone, and deceived us on purpose,” Theodora concluded. “Which would suggest the ambassador’s intentions towards our little kingdom are less than honorable.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Well, we shall just have to correct that. Send a messenger down to the docks and convey my apologies that there was no one there to greet the ambassador. Tell him that I request his presence here if he is not too tired, and have Callista prepare rooms if they would prefer to retire immediately.”

Kamet nodded and melted away to make the appropriate arrangements. His heart was hammering. It had been almost twenty years since the war with the Medes, and in point of fact they had been quiet since. Just as Eugenides had predicted, Naheelid had been assassinated after his failure to conquer the Little Peninsula, and the empire had cracked apart in the years following. Suninex revolted and reclaimed its independence. The Kashak Empire, which had been protected from Mede expansion by the great Unshak Mountains, claimed Setra and Ghoda. Following these defeats, the primary claimant to the throne of Central Medea had faced an unexpected challenge from the governor of Anan. Finally, he had traded Anan and all the lands south of the isthmus in exchange for peace.

The new ambassador was spokesman for an empire only a quarter of its former size, and a great deal poorer. But the emperor was a shrewd man, and he had retained control of several key assets—the ports of Zabrisa and Iannis, the silver mines, and Ianna-Ir, which was as close to a siege-proof city as the gods had ever designed. Kamet could not shake his concern for what the Mede might again be capable of. He returned to the audience room quickly, and made sure that he and Costis were flanking the princess when the ambassador arrived.

Most of the audiences had been relatively trivial—issues that would give Theodora a taste of royal mediation but were extremely unlikely to lead to disaster if she made a mistake—and there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere when the announcer solemnly requested the princess’s permission to present the emissary of His Most Excellent and Sovereign Majesty Tiridata the Third, Emperor of the Mede, King of the Four Corners and Three Seas of the World.

Theodora inclined her head graciously. Her expression was inscrutable, and Kamet tried to keep his smugness from appearing on his own face. For all his nice titles, the emperor was just a jumped-up sailor and everyone knew it. All the silver in his mines couldn’t buy him the nobility Theodora was born with.

“I present to the court His Excellency Mardunya Bessus, formerly master at the University of Sidusa, confidant and friend of His Imperial Majesty, and, with your royal approval, ambassador to Attolia.”

The whispering crowd parted, and the ambassador and his party approached the throne. It was a small group, consisting of only the ambassador, an older man, and a secretary with a silver chain around his neck. The ambassador walked in front of the other two and bowed deeply.

Kamet had read the spies’ reports on Ambassador Mardunya, and he inspected him carefully. He was young. Kamet supposed that was deliberate; he was the first ambassador in recent memory who could say he had never picked up a sword against Attolia. He had rather fair skin and dark hair that curled tightly against his head. His beard was curly, too, dyed henna red and much shorter than Kamet would have expected—fashions must have changed. He had a beaky nose and eyes that drooped at the corners. His clothes, though well-made, were plain linen, decorated only with a simple pattern of vines embroidered around the collar and cuffs of his coat.

“Your Highness,” he said in a pleasant baritone voice. “I apologize for intruding early on your hospitality. There was a lull in the winter storms while we were in Zabrisa, and the captain of our ship was eager to be off. We must beg your forgiveness.”

His voice was calm, but the words were stilted, and Kamet guessed that the ambassador did not have much experience speaking in front of large crowds. Theodora, although she was younger than the ambassador by two or three years, replied much more smoothly.

“You are most welcome in Attolia, Your Excellency, and happily forgiven” she said. “I regret only that my father who is Attolis and my mother who is Attolia are not here to greet you, but they are travelling in Sounis. They will return in the coming week.”

“I look forward to meeting Their Majesties,” the ambassador said with another bow, shallower this time. “Their reputation in my homeland is formidable.”

Costis hmphed disapprovingly, and Theodora raised one eyebrow.

“Indeed. Won’t you present your companions to the court?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Mardunya indicated the older man beside him. “This is Bakab Aqil, steward of the New Palace and formerly the mayor of Sidusa. He is here as my advisor.”

Bakab greeted Theodora with the sort of eloquent nonsense expected in the Mede court. She received his compliments courteously and then waited. Mardunya didn’t seem to realize what she was waiting for; he shifted his weight and glanced sidewise at Bakab. Theodora smiled at him placidly for a moment and then turned her gaze on the slave.

“Oh! Pardon me, Your Highness,” Mardunya said, relieved. “This is Saam, my secretary, although that is a humble title for one whose skills and knowledge are so invaluable to me.”

Theodora welcomed him, as well, and the slave bowed deeply and demured that his master was too kind. The princess invited the entire party to join her for dinner that evening and politely dismissed them—but the ambassador hesitated.

“I beg pardon, Your Majesty, but I had hoped to be introduced to your Secretary of the Archives.”

Theodora was caught off-guard; she bit lip and her eyes flickered towards Kamet’s. He frowned and gave a subtle shake of the head. He, too, was perplexed, but he could think of very few legitimate reasons why a new ambassador would like to speak to a spymaster before he had even settled in his chambers.

“Of course I would be happy to introduce you to any member of the court during your stay.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Only—excuse me—” The ambassador’s gaze fell on him. “You  _ are _ Kamet Kingnamer, are you not?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Kamet said, startled at being so directly addressed.

“And is it true that you were once a scholar in the Mede empire known as Kamet of Nahuseresh?”

There was a disapproving murmur from the crowd, but the ambassador was staring intently and did not seem to notice.

“What business is that of yours?” Costis asked in a cold—and, frankly, rude—voice. The ambassador didn’t seem to notice that, either.

“Only that, when I was a boy in the city of Iannis, my tutor despaired of ever teaching me old Ensur, and as motivation he provided me with copies of old myths that had been translated from Ensur into Mede. The librarian informed me that the translation was done by Kamet of Nahuseresh, who had received some notoriety when he left the empire in dramatic circumstances.” He dismissed dramatic circumstances with a wave of his hand. “I learned from a member of my court that the Attolian Master of Archives had also once gone by that name, but no one could tell me if the two men were the same.”

“Yes,” Kamet said. He wasn’t sure if he believed the Mede’s innocent curiosity, but it amused him. “I am him.”

“I am a great admirer of your work, sir,” the ambassador said with another deep bow.

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

His suspicion was not entirely abated, but the princess seemed charmed. She had always been fond of Kamet, ever since she was a child; like a cat, she had sensed that he was uncomfortable around small children and latched onto him immediately, in preference to any of her tutors, nurses, or guards. In the beginning, he had recited poetry for her because he simply had no idea how else to entertain one so young. Costis had told him the myths were too serious, his words too complicated, but the mere fact that she had his attention had delighted the princess. She had grown up with his stories, and they held a special place in her heart even though their conversation in recent years had shifted to state- and spycraft.

“Kamet has also translated many Mede poems into Attolian,” she said with a warm smile. “I will have a scribe provide you with copies of your own—they are kept in the royal library.”

The ambassador thanked her and apologized once more for his unexpected arrival, and then the small party turned and left.

Theodora watched them thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to her secretary and pointedly asked if there was any other pressing business for the day. He answered in the negative, and most of the court was dismissed. Kamet and Costis remained, as did the princess’s usual contingent of attendants and guards. Theodora slumped in the throne and crossed her legs, propping her chin up on one hand.

“I didn’t read your report on the Mede ambassador, Kamet,” Theodora admitted.

“That’s quite all right, Your Highness.”

“Catch me up to speed?”

“Of course.” Kamet stepped down so that he stood in front of the dais. Wordlessly, Costis followed, his hands behind his back at parade rest. “Mardunya Bessus is the second son of Artabanus, the governor of Iannis. It’s an important province, as you know, home of the largest port in the empire, and Artabanus is well-liked. He’s been the governor for over a decade, and his first and third sons are officers in the navy and army, respectively.”

“And the ambassador?”

“As far as we know, he has never been of a military inclination. He had the usual private education—tutors and fencing masters—and then entered the University of Sidusa. He did very well there and stayed on to teach for two years before going into service at the palace last spring. The general opinion at court is that he wouldn’t have a political career at all if it were not for the emperor.”

“They are related?”

“Yes, Your Highness. The ambassador’s mother is the emperor’s second cousin, and the whole family have been some of the emperor’s staunchest supporters since he claimed the throne. According to rumor, Mardunya refused political appointments twice until the emperor asked him directly.”

“I don’t understand,” Theodora said with a frown. She was wearing a dress and slippers today, for the audiences. Typically the princess preferred to wear boots, and a long belted tunic over a pair of hose or trousers so that she could scramble up walls or pace the roof without worrying about modesty. Her foot bounced in the air as she thought, sending a ripple through the silk of her skirt. “The last Mede ambassador was an experienced politician and a former general. Mother says all of Mede’s ambassadors are like that—that they’re always trying to remind us how tough they are. Why send a novice?”

“There is the advisor,” Costis pointed out. “He is older and has more experience in the court. And we don’t have inside knowledge of what passed in private between the emperor and the ambassador. He may not have a reputation as a swordsman, but that may be camouflage. If Your Highness could suggest that he might want to spar with the Guard, we can find out.”

The princess nodded slowly, and Kamet coughed.

“There is another possibility, Your Highness.” She turned her gaze on him and Kamet paused, considering his words. “Intimidation has, so far, not proved fruitful, and the Medes may be considering a change in strategy with regards to Attolia. The ambassador is very well-educated and knows more about the history and culture of the peninsula than the average Mede. He is also young… and unmarried.”

Theodora stared back uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then she laughed.

“ _ That’s _ a thought,” she chuckled. “Or perhaps it’s a bluff. Maybe they intend to sneak a navy across the sea while the ambassador is wooing me and the king and queen are in Sounis. Costis, what do you think?”

“I think an invasion unlikely, Your Highness,” Costis replied seriously, but he took a few moments to quiz her on army readiness anyway. Theodora played along for a few minutes before thanking them both and gathering her skirts to leave.

She descended from the dais, surrounded by her attendants, and then paused and looked at Kamet with an impish grin.

“You know, even if this whole thing is an ambush, he’s not the  _ worst _ suitor in the world. I like his beard.”

And then, with a giggle that made it clear she was still a teenage girl, the princess swept out of the room.

“She’s joking,” Costis declared. He hesitated. “She  _ is _ joking?”

“Of course,” Kamet soothed. Privately, though, he wondered...


	2. Costis

The solstice was only two days away, and a light breeze cooled the stifling summer air. The city was bustling with residents taking advantage of the weather, each one drunk, merry, and carefree. Except, of course, the beleaguered captain of the guard, who had lost his charge.

In fairness, he had not _exactly_ lost her. Since Teleus’s retirement, Costis’s duties frequently left him unavailable to guard the princess himself. The only exception was for the random, unsupervised excursions Theodora took outside the palace walls. According to official policy, they didn’t exist—but the king, who had been raised almost wild, insisted in private that his daughter be allowed to have some freedom.

And for years, these excursions had always included Costis. If the princess was trying to sneak out of the castle, they arranged for him to wait in a designated spot. If she was feeling particularly bold, they simply walked out the door together. He could follow at a distance or at her side, a silent shadow or a confidante. But sometime around her sixteenth birthday, the princess had begun to leave him behind. Not frequently, but at least once every two months. Costis hated it, especially because the queen had instructed him to inform her each time it happened. It had been two decades, and still sometimes Costis felt like falling to his knees and begging the queen not to hang him.

On this particular night, Costis had been informed by one of the princess’s attendants that she had gone missing after supper—and that she had spent a few moments that afternoon in private conversation with the Mede ambassador, who was also not in his rooms. Costis did not like that at _all_.

On the whole, Costis didn’t know what to make of the new ambassador. He was not as nosy as former Medes, and while he seemed just as arrogant, his arrogance was usually expressed as judging silence rather than snide half-compliments. As his reputation suggested, he was serious, bookish, and somewhat below average with a sword (although Costis had equipped himself with two daggers before venturing into the city, just in case). Something about him seemed to fascinate the princess, though, and this was not the first time she had sought him out for a private conversation.

It was the first time she had snuck out of the castle with him, which was rather more alarming.

Costis spent almost an hour searching the city before he learned that a play the princess had expressed interest in was playing that very night in the theater by the Sacred Way. He planted himself outside the entrance and waited—and, sure enough, when the crowd poured out at the show’s conclusion, among them was the princess of Attolia and the Mede ambassador, arm-in-arm and laughing. Costis did not say a word; he simply folded his arms and waited for Theodora to notice him. She grinned when she did, and dropped Mardunya’s arm as she walked straight up to him and—somehow—looked down her nose at him, although he was a head taller.

“Costis, Costis, Costis.”

“Your Highness.”

“Mardunya, you’ve met Costis, haven’t you?” she asked loftily.

“Of course. Good evening, captain.”

The ambassador looked more nervous, which Costis appreciated, and he bowed. He wobbled a bit, and Costis thought he might be drunk. Theodora’s color was high, too, and his frown deepened.

“ _Costis_ is the captain of my father’s Guard,” she continued, ignoring Mardunya’s response. “He’s also the one who makes sure I never have _any_ fun.”

She scowled up at Costis with her hands on her hips, and he stared back silently. Behind her, the ambassador dithered.

“Th—Your Highness, you said you were permitted to visit the city on your own.”

“I am.”

“But if His Majesty has called you back—”

Theodora frowned, and this time she glanced up at Costis with something like a plea in her eyes. He sighed.

“Her Highness is permitted to go wherever she likes.”

“See? Even Costis says so,” the princess said triumphantly. “The only reason _he_ is here is because if he weren’t, my mother who is Attolia would be annoyed with him. So, we shall continue to enjoy our evening out, and Costis will accompany us.”

She tried to thread her arm through Mardunya’s again, but he evaded her with a guilty glance at Costis and held his hands behind his back. Costis, on his part, would have preferred if this was the end of Theodora’s evening out, but he knew better than to suggest it, and he dropped behind as the two young people began to walk through the city. The streets were more lively than usual at this time of night; people spilled out of the wine shops, the echoes of dinner parties in courtyards filtered through the air, and a few street performers remained at their corners, juggling, declaiming, playing music.

“Is it not unusual for the head of the royal guard to serve as the princess’s personal bodyguard?” Mardunya asked, bending his head slightly so their conversation would not be overheard by the crowd.

“Is it? Well, Costis was my bodyguard first. He only became captain a few years ago—and he isn’t with me _all_ the time, you will have noticed. It’s just these little trips. Costis has had practice, you see, so he can keep up with me and he never gives me away. And also it’s very hard for me to disappoint him because he gets a _look_ on his face.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Look, there it is,” she whispered theatrically, and they both enjoyed a good laugh at Costis’s expense.

“Mede women don’t go anywhere alone,” the ambassador said absently as they walked. “They spend most of their time in the women’s quarters. Although the empress sits in on many of the emperor’s meetings, behind a screen with two of the emperor’s concubines and all their maids.”

“The empress is friends with the emperor’s concubines?” Theodora echoed with a laugh.

“Oh, yes. My cousin has a fondness for women, and he has quite a few concubines, two of whom are very interested in politics. They advise him after meetings, although I’ve never been privy to their advice and can’t say whether they always agree with each other or not.”

“I think I prefer the Attolian method, where my mother rules from her throne.”

“It is a more direct method,” the ambassador acceded with a smile. “But one, perhaps, that few women are suited for.”

“Ah, but how many men are suited to rule? Yet few would admit such shortcomings. And before you try to argue for the humility of men, remember that I am crown princess.”

“Meaning that I should defer to royal judgement?”

“Meaning that the man who marries me will be king, and I know _exactly_ how many men seek to nominate themselves for that position.”

The ambassador was saved from replying by the melodious voice of a lyre player singing on the corner. They paused to listen, and the conversation turned to music until the party reached a nearby wine shop. It was a reputable place, but cheap enough that there was little chance of Theodora being recognized—especially because she had parted her hair differently and wore it unbound, without her distinctive cloth-of-gold headband. They found a table, and Mardunya courteously offered to fetch drinks. Costis forestalled him, though, with a mumbled “my lord” that wouldn’t attract the attention of other patrons. Allowing a representative of a hostile foreign power to handle the princess’s food and drink was just slightly more than he could bear, no matter how agreeable the representative himself might appear.

Costis fetched the wine and poured cups for the princess and the ambassador, and settled in to wait. At first, he tried to maintain the polite fiction that guards could neither see nor hear those whom they guarded, but as time passed he regarded the two with open curiosity. It didn’t matter; they weren’t paying attention to him.

They talked about the play. It was a new one, but based on old Eddisian myths, a topic the princess could speak on for some time. Mardunya’s eyes were riveted on her face, and his head bobbed up and down in obsessive agreement. After a while, the princess asked about the Mede gods, and Mardunya began to speak in a dry schoolmaster’s voice, but Theodora interrupted with frequent questions, and he became more lively in response.

The topic meandered, then, to a comparison of Attolia’s capital and Sinuessa and Ianna-Ir, to Eddis and Sounis and the fragments of what had been Medea. Costis heard the phrase “when you visit” more than once, which made him frown. He could think of little reason why the Mede ambassador to Attolia would ever visit Sounis, and _no_ reason _whatsoever_ why the princess of Attolia would visit Kodester.

An hour and a half passed. Costis fetched more wine and a small platter of food, which he gently urged them to eat before refilling their cups. Theodora mocked him, but she ate, and the ambassador seemed to remember Costis’s presence and became flustered again.

“Let us return to our earlier topic,” Theodora declared as she spread soft cheese over a piece of bread.

“Happily. Which one?”

“Women.” The princess paused, and Costis tried to suppress a smirk. He had a sneaking suspicion that she waited only to see the ambassador blush—he obliged her almost on cue. “Let me speak frankly, my lord: I have been taught from my earliest days to be wary of the Mede, for reasons that are perhaps obvious?”

“Regrettably so.”

“And one of the most valuable tools in my arsenal, I have been told, is that I am a woman, because Medes never acknowledge the strength of a queen the way they do a king. What say you?”

The ambassador was silent for a moment as he stared into the middle distance. Unthinkingly, his fingers fiddled with the roll in his hands, tearing it to pieces.

“I say,” he said slowly, “this is true of my countrymen in general, although most would carve out an exception for the queen of Attolia. As I mentioned earlier, they do not think that women as a group are suited to rule, but a small number have proven themselves atypical.”

Theodora pursed her lips.

“Do you agree with your countrymen, then?”

“Have you ever seen pearl divers work?” the ambassador said unexpectedly. When Theodora replied in the negative, he continued, “In Mede, most pearl divers are women. They are better naturally suited to the cold water and they can hold their breath for longer. There _are_ male pearl divers, but they must begin training with the women when they are very young, perhaps nine or ten years old. Someone like me—with few natural inclinations, who has formed other habits—would be unable to join their ranks now.”

“I see your meaning,” Theodora said. She pondered for a moment. “I hate it.”

“Yes, I expect you would.”

“And you must admit, then, that the fault is not with women themselves, but with those who prohibit women from learning to read or to wield a sword and chastise them for speaking too boldly.”

“Oh, certainly. And I agree, too, that any woman who has had such an upbringing is as well-prepared to rule as a man. Although it is as you said, Theodora—”

“Her Highness,” Costis corrected stiffly, and the ambassador started.

“Excuse me—of course—excuse me, Your—”

“Oh, stop it,” Theodora spoke over him, sticking her tongue out at Costis. “If someone hears you, our pleasant evening out turns into a mess of bowing and scraping and I get a lecture from my mother tomorrow. What were you saying, Mardunya?”

The ambassador cleared his throat and brushed crumbs off his sleeves.

“Only that, as you mentioned earlier, every man sees himself king. And that poses more threat to a queen than a king would face confronted with a woman who would be queen.”

“Depending on the woman,” Theodora said with sparkling eyes.

“Indeed.”

“Well, thank you, Mardunya, for that enlightening conversation. I must be getting back—Costis is getting cranky.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” the ambassador said, almost knocking his chair down in his haste to stand and bow.

Theodora smiled and dipped her head in a graceful curtsy.

“Good night.” She reached out to squeeze the ambassador’s arm as she passed.

“Good night,” he echoed in a faint voice. He turned to watch her go, and Costis frowned and waited. Several seconds passed before Mardunya looked around again, and he flushed when he realized Costis was still there. “Captain,” he mumbled. “Good night.”

“Your Excellency,” Costis said with a stiff bow.

He followed Theodora out into the night. Her face was tilted towards the stars, and she pushed a hand through her hair. Costis proffered his arm—his left arm, leaving his sword hand free—and the princess tucked her hand in his elbow as they walked. It was quieter now than before, much of the city gone to bed at last.

“I put up with your crankiness for _years_ and never once complained,” he said sulkily. Theodora laughed and rested her head against his shoulder.

“That’s because you’re a better person than I am, Costis.”

“Your father says the same thing. I’m beginning to suspect it’s just an excuse to be rude.”

“Yes, it is.” There was a pause. “You won’t tell him about tonight, will you?”

The question surprised him. At this point in the king’s reign, it was almost impossible for him to sneak out into the city without being recognized, and he often lived vicariously through his daughter. She didn’t tell him about her excursions every time, but she had never asked Costis to keep one secret.

“No, Your Highness.”

“Good.”

“I will have to inform the queen,” he admitted, and her lips twitched in a fleeting frown.

“Why?”

“Because, Your Highness, she specifically instructed me to inform her if you went out at night under—certain circumstances.”

“Such as?”

Costis was silent. The queen had listed several such instances, most of which had not yet come to pass. If he told Theodora what they were, she would leave him behind, and he couldn’t encourage that. She knew this without being told, and after a moment she let the subject drop.

“Was he watching?”

“Your Highness?”

“The ambassador. When I left—was he watching?”

“Yes.”

The princess nodded with a disinterested expression, but after a moment, she turned her face away and the faintest smile touched her mouth.

—

Costis was immensely grateful, soon afterward, to return to his room. He was going to have to schedule an unpleasant meeting with the queen the next day, and it would be better on a full night’s sleep—or at least half a night. He undressed in the dark, as quietly as he could manage, but Kamet stirred when he climbed into bed.

“Time is it?” he mumbled.

“Half middle watch, I think,” Costis said, yawning. “Go back to sleep.”

“You’ve been gone all this time?”

“Mm.”

Kamet rolled over, yawning himself, and draped his arm around Costis’s waist.

“The princess?” he asked, his breath warm on Costis’s bare shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Everything all right?”

Costis thought for a long time before he responded.

“I think you’re right,” he said slowly. “About the Medes’ new strategy for Attolia. I also think the Mede ambassador is head-over-heels in love with her.”

“Mm. I am always right. And the princess—does she feel the same?”

Costis did not answer.


	3. Irene

It was the final night of the feast of Cerulis, and the palace was buzzing with energy. The buzz faded to a soft hum as the queen passed through the halls—conversations turning to whispers, laughter stifled, toothy smiles hidden behind a polite hand. It had always been thus, ever since Irene ascended to the throne. Now, at least, the smiles didn’t vanish entirely, and the people she passed were able to raise their gaze to her face instead of being pinned to the ground. The balance between fear and love had shifted that much.

Her daughter’s attendants, however, took one look at her expression and fell into a respectful silence. They recognized the gravity in her face, even if they did not know the cause.

“Leave us,” she ordered quietly, and with curtseys and muttered “Your Majesty”s they melted from the room.

Theodora was sitting in front of the mirror, fully dressed with her hair spilling out of the braid her attendant had begun. Her dress was a deep orange color, trimmed in red and embroidered with geometric patterns in gold—she looked every bit as lovely as a sunset, and Irene told her so.

“Thank you, Mama,” Theodora said. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing. I only wanted to speak with you before the festival began.”

She stepped closer and directed Theodora to face the mirror again. She took up the braid the attendants had abandoned and, with clumsy fingers, continued it. Theodora had a lot of hair; typically she wore it down, but on special occasions she wore it in a crown around her forehead. From the time she was young, Irene had come into her chambers to tell her who would be  present on such occasions, and why they were important, and how a queen ought to deal with them. Theodora had listened intently, and Irene’s idle gaze had followed the attendants in their task. She couldn’t remember the last time she had braided Theodora’s hair herself. Maybe she never had.

After a minute of silence, Irene asked “Did you enjoy the play?” in a low murmur.

Theodora scowled at her own reflection.

“I thought Costis wasn’t supposed to report on my excursions. I thought I was allowed privacy.”

“You are.”

“Unless…?”

“Unless you are accompanied by young men. I was very clear in my instructions about that.”

Theodora fell silent and lowered her eyes. Irene regarded her daughter in the mirror and thought about how alike they looked. Few noticed, because Theodora had her father’s coloring—olive skin, deep brown eyes, thick curling hair the color of black coffee. But in most other regards, she resembled her mother. Irene had already become queen by the time she was her daughter’s age, but she remembered how it felt to be a young princess trapped in the palace, burdened under the weight of expectations. She recognized that feeling in the tilt of Theodora’s chin, the set of her lips, the straight line of her brows.

It was more than just appearance, too. People were quick to compare Theodora to her father, because she was prone to climbing the roofs, because she was charming and infuriating in equal measures, because she could wield a sword and steal earrings and dance with knives. What none of them realized was that Eugenides had delighted in being a thief, and kingship had been a burden to him. Theodora was born to be queen. Theodora _wanted_ to be queen.

Eugenides had taken the crown only because doing so allowed him to aid the ones he loved. If he had ever been asked to cut them off for the sake of the throne, he would have refused. Irene wasn’t sure what Theodora would do.

Her hands had stilled. She looked down at them and finished the small braid, pinning it to Theodora’s scalp.

“Do not go out alone if you intend to meet him,” the queen ordered. “Or any other young man. Costis will accompany you. He will be discreet, but he will remain within shouting distance.”

“Mama, you’re being ridiculous,” Theodora reproached.

“Surely it does not surprise you that I am concerned about your reputation.”

“If it was my reputation you were concerned about, you would have said Costis was to keep me in his _sight_ ,” she pointed out. “Shouting distance means you think Ma—the ambassador intends to hurt me. I don’t think he would. Even if he could.”

There were tangles in the princess’s hair on the other side of her head, and Irene worked through them in silence. Her throat had shut tight, and she needed a moment to steady her voice.

“Someday, you will be Queen of Attolia,” she said quietly. “And what that means is that every man wants something from you. He wants the power that you have or the power you can bestow. He wants money, land, armies. He wants your admiration, your pity, your favor, your love. He wants you to be virtuous or he wants to steal your virtue. He wants you to be weak, stupid, gullible, strong, clever, and determined, all in his favor.”

She rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.

“It is the way of the world, Theodora,” she said. Grief flooded her veins like cold water. It was the way of the world, and she wished it wasn’t. “He wants _something_ , and he will hurt you when he takes it. Even if you give it freely. Even if he loves you.”

Theodora did not respond. Her eyes were lowered as she investigated the table before her. She picked up a white flower that her attendants would have braided into her hair, and deliberately began to pluck off the petals and shred them into tiny pieces.

“Has Father ever hurt you?” she asked.

Her voice was matter-of-fact, but her forehead was creased and Irene knew the thought troubled her. She ran her fingers through Theodora’s hair again and began to braid the other side.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I cut off his hand,” she said dryly. “He forced me to face the person I had become—that hurt. And again when he told me that he loved me. I had built walls around myself, and breaking them down… it meant allowing him to see me as a woman and not a queen. Trusting him when I was supposed to trust no one, and fearing the consequences every waking moment. Growing attached to another person, knowing full well that the gods might take him from me at any moment. It was painful. Pain is unavoidable, Theodora—but some people are worth the pain they cause, and some are not.”

The room was quiet for several long minutes. The window was open, and the whistle of birds and the chatter of people drifted in on the summer evening breeze. Theodora had been born on a day very like this one—almost twenty years ago. Irene could hardly believe it, although the thin streaks of silver in her own hair testified to the truth.

“How did you stand it?” Theodora asked. She met Irene’s gaze in the mirror. “All those years you were alone, when you were the sovereign queen—knowing what they all wanted, know what people expected… how could you bear it?”

“I don’t know,” Irene admitted. “Not well. Things are a little better now, and my most frequent and fervent prayer to the gods is that they will be better still when you ascend to the throne.”

She pinned the final braid in place.

“I do not know this young man as well as you do. I will leave it to you to decide if he is worthy of trust, yet you are still my daughter and the princess of Attolia. There are precautions that must be taken. As I said, you will take Costis with you if you go on any other excursions beyond the palace walls. Lachesia will be your chaperone within them, even if you choose to dismiss your other attendants. You will continue to receive Kamet’s reports and you will not dismiss his advice because of your own partiality. Agreed?”

“Yes, Mother,” Theodora said humbly.

“Also…” Irene took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “There is silphium planted among the palace gardens. Pheme knows where it is and will bring you some should you need it.”

“Mother!” Theodora protested, and Irene couldn’t help the surge of relief she felt at the obvious scandal in her voice. “I couldn’t!”

“You can, and if need be, you will.”

There had been three more miscarriages, after Theodora. Two in the early stages, so early that only she and Eugenides and the physician knew there was anything to grieve. One so late that Irene mistook the pains for the beginning of labor. After the third, she took to locking all of her doors and windows at night so that Eugenides would know he was not welcome. She had _wanted_ him, desperately, but the thought of her husband’s touch—of where it might lead, of what disappointments it might bring—had terrified her.

It was Phresine, in the end, who had told her about the plants that grew unobtrusively in a corner of the garden. She had sent Pheme, one of her younger attendants, to take clippings for her, and for a week every month she drank a strong, bitter tea of its leaves. Eugenides had never spoken of it, but he knew, and she loved him all the more for his silence. When Theodora had outgrown her nursemaids and it was time to select attendants for her, Irene had made sure Pheme was among them.

She finished the final braid, and was jolted out of her somber thoughts by the sight of a dark flush on her daughter’s cheek. Irene’s lips curved in a smile.

“Don’t blush, Theo—you clash with your dress.”

“Then don’t make me blush, Mama,” Theodora retorted, lifting her chin like an empress. “Are you finished yet?”

“Almost,” Irene hedged.

She could find nothing else to do, but still she hesitated. There were questions she wanted to ask, more pointed warnings she wanted to deliver—she wanted to know if this man, this stranger, was really Theodora’s choice, and why, and whether she had thought this through, and if she realized an engagement would mean spending a whole year in the Mede Empire, or if this was just a harmless flirtation and if she had a graceful way to extricate herself when it ended. She wanted to tell Theodora she was too old to make such a fanciful decision and too young to make such a decision at all.

And then she remembered a beautiful spring day when Theodora was four years old and prancing happily around the roof of a gazebo, and Irene and Eugenides had sat on the bench below and watched. Once, Irene’s heart had beat so strongly in her chest that she was sure it would break a rib, and she had raised her arm and opened her mouth to entreat Theodora to be _careful_.

“You’ll frighten her,” Eugenides had said.

“I only want to warn her.”

“So you did, when she was down here. We are responsible for her on the ground. Up there, she must rely on herself and the gods.”

Irene had pressed her lips together until they were bloodless, and after the longest ten minutes of her life, Theodora finally got bored and lifted her arms and demanded Costis let her down. Irene had been there immediately to sweep Theodora into her arms, but her daughter had been unharmed, and she wiggled and complained in the face of her fussing.

A sigh passed between her lips. Irene closed her eyes and bent to softly kiss the crown of her daughter’s head.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The preparation of silphium in this chapter is made up, but the plant itself was real—it was a popular contraceptive and/or abortifacient used by ancient Greeks and Romans, although it has been extinct for a little more than two thousand years so the details of its use are unknown.
> 
> Also, ALL credit goes to KMoche for the image of Eugenides breaking his "no roofs for the first five years" promise to Costis on the basis of gazebos not counting as roofs.


	4. Mardunya

Mardunya liked Attolia, much more than he had initially expected, but he did not like his chambers. They were modest and comfortable and well-upholstered—and he was positive that spies lurked behind the walls at every moment of the day, ready to convey his words directly to the king and queen. Unless the spy of the moment _was_ the king, which he had learned was not outside the realm of possibility.

Whenever possible, he preferred to converse with Saam in the palace gardens, instead. The peaceful open spaces calmed him, and he took perverse pleasure in knowing that the spies who evaded his gaze were crouching in the hedges rather than leaning against the wall, which seemed somehow less dignified.

On this particular afternoon, their conversation revolved around Mardunya’s correspondence. It was a low-stakes conversation; he wanted to write one letter to his elder brother, who had recently announced the birth of his third child, and one to the emperor, to report that nothing significant had occurred since his last report. He and Bakab had already gone over the content, and now he and Saam simply needed to compose the language.

Or at least, that was his intention. Saam apparently had other ideas about content.

“Can I inform the emperor of your success in following his final instruction, master?” Saam asked innocently. Mardunya scowled at him. They were not usually so formal, because Saam was older than he was and had entered Mardunya’s service when he was the newest and most lowly-ranked master of the University of Sidussa, and there seemed little point in obscuring that fact. But the secretary fell back into politeness whenever he was being an ass.

“You cannot.”

“Can I inform him that you are _trying_ to follow his final instruction?”

“You cannot.”

“Can I inform him that circumstances have developed that would allow you to follow his final instruction if you were a more obedient servant of His Imperial Majesty?”

“Saam!”

 _Marry an Attolian girl, if the fancy takes you_ , the emperor had tossed out at the end of a four-hour meeting on strategies to lessen Attolia’s hostility toward Mede. It had been a joke, a way to lighten the grim mood of the room and give Mardunya’s father and assorted cousins a reason to tease him before he left. No one had expected him to actually do it—for one thing because Mardunya was too young to settle down, for a second because he was shy and awkward around women, and for a third because no Attolian father in his right mind would want his daughter to speak to a Mede, let alone marry one.

All of those things were still true. And yet...

“Good afternoon, Your Excellency.”

“Your Highness!” Mardunya exclaimed with a start. He blushed, beamed, and bowed, in that order. Theodora replied with a royal nod and what he suspected was mock solemnity. “May I join you?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The princess stepped up to take his arm. Spotting Saam, she greeted him warmly. The slave returned the greeting, and then turned to Mardunya and declared that, since their business was finished, he would never dare to intrude on his master’s leisure time and would return to their rooms posthaste. There was a sly look on his face that no Senabid player could match, and Mardunya hoped the princess didn’t notice. Her attendants, too, fell back, and they walked privately through the hedges.

The bushes were a riot of color, here in late summer, and the princess was wearing a long blue tunic as delicate and vibrant as any of the petals around her. Mardunya was attempting, unsuccessfully, to craft a compliment that was both eloquent and understated when Theodora spoke.

“My birthday is in a month.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. My twentieth birthday. There will be a tremendous fuss, of course.”

“I think that is only appropriate.”

The princess shot him an exasperated look.

“Just for that, you are invited to every event, no matter how long, no matter how cluttered the guest list.”

“I would be delighted, Your Highness,” Mardunya said in his gravest voice, with a deep bow.

Theodora rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face, and the sight made his heart flutter. Upon his arrival at the Mede court, Mardunya had endured hours and hours of etiquette instruction from Bakab; upon his arrival at the Attolian court, he learned that most of those formalities were totally unnecessary. However, he was not blessed with easy manners, and out of fear of improvisation, he clung to the Mede rules. He knew  that many in the palace thought that made him insufferable. The princess had teased him on more than one occasion for being overly serious, and he was glad that she could realize when he was making a joke.

“I only regret I did not know of this sooner—a month is not a long time to procure a gift fitting for a princess.”

“It will be difficult,” Theodora agreed seriously. “Especially the gift I want from you.”

“Pray tell, Your Highness, and I will put all my faculties to the task.”

“I want… the Mede Empire to abolish the practice of slavery.”

Mardunya groaned. This had been their very first topic of private conversation—the first time they danced together, as a matter of fact, and Mardunya had been caught so off guard by the debate that he stepped on the princess’s feet twice and almost bowled a baron over. She had stormed off the dance floor at the end of the song, and he was convinced he had ruined his diplomatic career already. But a confidante of the princess, the Duchess of Roa, had approached him for the next dance, and promised him that the princess did _not_ hate him but would also _not_ allow the argument to lapse.

“It is not in her nature, Your Excellency,” the duchess had said with a smile. “You must prepare yourself.”

“ _How?_ ” he had asked, and she had laughed at him and declined to answer.

“Your Highness, need I remind you once again that I am merely a lowly servant of the emperor, not the emperor himself?”

“I want for you to use your not-inconsiderable powers of persuasion to guide your cousin, a relative by blood who holds you in great esteem—”

“I am humbled that you rate my powers of persuasion so highly, when they have never worked on you.”

“ _I_ am Theodora Eugenides, Crown Princess of Attolia,” she said dryly, as if that was argument enough. “Besides, think of how much more persuasive you will be when you argue in favor of a just cause.”

“Your Highness,” Mardunya sighed. “You know my thoughts on the matter. I am as strongly in favor of gradual emancipation as any man in Medea—indeed, I have made provisions for Saam’s freedom already. But my country is still fragile, and the kind of change you push for would shatter her.”

“My father who is Attolis abolished the practice of slavery in Attolia.”

“It is my understanding that slavery was little practiced in Attolia anyway, and both of Their Majesties were secure in their power at the time. The Mede Empire has not fully recovered from the Civil War. Even if the treasury could absorb the cost of emancipation, the slaveowning class would be outraged. Without his generals, the emperor would not have won the last war; I doubt he could win one _against_ them.”

Theodora waved her hand in dismissal.

“The barons of Sounis almost denied the king his throne, and yet slavery reform was one of his first acts. My mother who is Attolia says that a ruler earns her sovereignty the moment she accomplishes one impossible task. For her, it was appointing an okloi general.”

“Pardon—an okloi is a person without land, yes?”

“Yes. Until my mother took the throne, okloi held no power in this kingdom. My mother who is Attolia knew that the barons would not respect an okloi appointee—but she realized that the real issue was whether they respected _her_. If your emperor is secure in his power, he will be able to do the impossible. If he frets about angering his generals, they will give him something to fret about.”

“Perhaps.”

“Certainly. I have more examples you may give him.”

“A ruler cannot rule through sheer force of will, Your Highness.”

“Mardunya, really! You are hopelessly pessimistic sometimes.”

He sighed again. He enjoyed talking with the princess about history, about poetry, and yes, sometimes about politics—but too often the conversation ended like this, with Theodora arguing for bold action and deriding his more cautious approach. He hated disappointing her.

“Your Highness, I fear this is a fruitless argument. For all my pretty manners, I am nothing more than a humble schoolteacher at heart, and thus ill-equipped to argue with a princess about the actions of kings and queens and emperors.”

“Do teachers of history not judge the kings and queens of ages past?” Theodora asked with a smile, and his returning smile was bittersweet.

“Yes, Your Highness—of ages far, far past. It is easier to make such judgements when none will suffer for them. I fear that is all I am good for.”

The princess’s arm moved in his, tugging him just a tiny bit closer. Her gaze was lowered modestly, although her brows were arched.

“You think, then, that a scholar has nothing in common with a king?” Her eyes flickered up to his, and his heart leapt in his chest. “Nothing to offer a queen?”

Their footsteps slowed until they had stopped in the middle of the path. Heat touched Mardunya’s cheeks, and still Theodora stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. As the moment stretched on, the corner of her mouth tilted up. Small white petals floated on the wind around them, and she pressed her lips together to hide a smile as she brushed one off his sleeve.

“Your Highness…” Mardunya managed. “You are teasing me.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Are you offended, Your Excellency?”

“No, Your Highness. Merely… off-balanced.”

Theodora turned and continued walking. They approached a large fish pond surrounded by a ring of large stones, and the princess slipped from his grasp to leap nimbly onto the nearest rock. She lifted her arms gracefully like a dancer.

“There is nothing wrong with that. My god likes for people to be off-balance every once in a while. It proves their devotion. To give up one’s own balance is to trust in the favor of the god.”

“Which god is this, Your Highness?”

The look she flashed over her shoulder informed him that he was the world’s greatest fool.

“Eugenides, of course.”

“I thought Eugenides was the god of thieves.”

“So. The god of thieves and balance and all the thief’s gifts. The god of my father and—well, not his father, but his mother, and several other ancestors beyond that. I have served him faithfully all my life, and in return he never lets me—”

A sharp gasp interrupted her words. The next rock was substantially smaller than the one before it, and the princess had leapt down to continue her walk. But the stone was not properly set, and it wobbled. She lost her balance and pitched forward.

“Your Highness!” Mardunya exclaimed, leaping forward on instinct, and the princess was laughing as she fell heavily against his chest. She flung her arms around his neck and his hands settled on her waist. Her body shook with laughter—his heart rate was similarly tremulous.

Her attendants had heard his shout, and they appeared around them like a startled flock of birds, anxiously squawking after the princess’s health. She pulled away from Mardunya’s embrace with one hand lifted to her mouth to stymie her giggles.

“I am well—everything is fine. A slight stumble, that is all. We must have someone fix that stone.” She waved her attendants away and dipped into an elegant curtsy. Mardunya watched her, concerned that she might have twisted her ankle, but both the descent and the ascent were smooth. “Thank you for your assistance, Your Excellency. My god loves irony, and arrogance only in a moderate amount.”

“I am delighted to have served Your Highness,” Mardunya said, reverting to polite formulas in his puzzlement.

“And now you must excuse me.” She held out her hand. “You will think on what I said? About my birthday present?”

“I will think of nothing else, Your Highness,” Mardunya said. Another polite formula—but when he grasped Theodora’s fingers in his, her eyes softened, and he knew she heard the truth in it. Hope blossomed in his chest.


	5. Eugenides

Eugenides was in the library, pouring over a book on the various historical intrigues and scandals within the Magyaran Council of Lords. It was a very interesting book, and he was thoroughly absorbed—but even so, his hand darted out at the precise moment to wrap around his daughter’s wrist, just before she could reach into the pocket of his coat.

“Did you need something, my dear?” he asked in a mild voice, knowing that Theodora could hear the triumph underneath it. She deflated and fell into the chair opposite him.

“How did you know?” she demanded.

“New earrings, are they?” Each one had a gold charm from which hung three short strands of pearls. They knocked together faintly when she moved—it was the lack of any other sound that had indicated it was Theodora, even though he hadn’t expected her for another hour.

“They were a birthday present,” Theodora said, the corner of her mouth tilting up in the slightest smile. “I’m still adjusting.”

“It’s not your birthday yet.”

“Oh, good. That means I can skip the hunt tomorrow, the musical evening the day after, and all three luncheons.”

“By all means, sweetling,” Eugenides said, setting his book aside. “But that still leaves the banquet on the fateful day itself, and that was what I wanted to discuss.” He paused and sighed heavily. “I find the subject extremely distasteful, but various ministers have begun to outright _ask_ when the princess is going to marry.”

“And by when, they mean to whom.”

“Precisely.”

“And the banquet provides an excellent opportunity for me to meet many potential suitors without showing favoritism by going out of the way to visit one or the other.”

“Have I told you lately that you are the cleverest princess in Attolia?”

Theodora smiled obligingly, but she did not seem amused. The skin of her forehead was drawn tight, and her gaze drifted towards the window, away from him. Her fingers twisted in unconsciously in some of the exercises Eugenides had taught her—that was the only nervous habit he had ever seen her indulge in. Eugenides reached out and covered her hand with his own.

“Theo, you can tell them all to go to hell,” he offered.

“That sounds rather impolitic, Baba,” she said, and this time she was able to look him in the eye with a more genuine smile.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Chariton is the obvious choice. You already know him and like him, he’s been raised for kingship all his life, and we can trust him to have the peninsula’s best interests at heart.”

“He’s my cousin.”

“Second cousin, and only related through one parent. By Eddisian standards, that’s rather good.”

“We are not in Eddis.”

“Regardless. Consider Chariton. If you are not convinced, I’ve had Kamet draw up lists of men who are somewhat trustworthy, mildly intelligent, and tolerably handsome. There are one or two names who appear on multiple lists.”

“You make their case so forcefully,” Theodora said dryly. “Thank you, Father, but I have already chosen my suitor, and I doubt he is on any of your lists.”

Eugenides’s heart dropped into his stomach, and then immediately returned to its proper place when he realized that his daughter was joking. She would never drop something like that so casually into the conversation. He smiled.

“So, so, so. Is the lucky man aware you have chosen him?”

“I doubt it, but with your permission, he could be made aware.”

“Who is it?”

“Mardunya, the Mede ambassador.”

The joke was no longer funny.

“Theodora, you can’t be serious.”

“Perfectly serious, Father.”

It was quiet in the room, and somewhat dark—grey clouds obscured the sun. For a moment, though, they parted, and the light cracked like lightning. Eugenides saw Nahuseresh in his mind’s eye, Nahuseresh smirking with his helmet in his hand at the Pricas spring, and the familiar hatred rose up in him again.

And there was something else. What was it…? Something more like fear.

“The _queen of Attolia_ cannot marry the _Mede ambassador_ ,” Eugenides said in a quiet, firm voice.

“In years past, perhaps that has been true, but I am only the princess. And you don’t even know the current ambassador. You’re prejudiced be—”

“Of course I am!” he snapped, jumping up from his seat and pacing back and forth. In the back of his mind he suddenly wished they weren’t having this conversation in the middle of the library, but there was nothing to be done about it now. At least the main room was empty. “It is both reasonable and intelligent to be prejudiced against a person when his predecessors have maimed me, sent assassins after half the family, and instigated coups the world over!”

“Then I won’t marry any of his predecessors,” Theodora said impatiently. She went cold when she was angry, like her mother, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Ambassador Mardunya has a great deal of respect for me and my sovereignty and has never instigated a coup, so I believe he can be trusted.”

“Marrying you _is_ the coup. Haven’t I spent your entire life impressing upon you the fact that the Mede are _not_ our allies?”

“But they should be. Father, you know as well as I do—better—that the Continental Powers grow more wary of us each year. Since the annexation of Magyar and Roa—”

 _“Voluntary_ annexation,” Eugenides interrupted, momentarily distracted by this longstanding aggravation.

The parliament of Magyar had come to him four years ago in desperation after the death of their profligate king, who had died childless a scant few months after the death of his only brother. There was no clear line of succession, no gold in the treasury, and no power-hungry aristocrat willing to risk his own neck and fortune in service to the people. They had been only too happy for Eugenides to sort out the mess, and Roa, as a client state of Magyar, had come along with it. And they had brought him nothing but headaches ever since, not least of which had been intermediaries from the Continent trying to determine whether he was a tyrant.

“Even so. The Little Peninsula is not so little as it once was, and not so confined to the peninsula, and the Continental Powers are not pleased. And how many times have I heard you say the Powers come on slow horses with light purses? We can’t rely on them.”

“Nor can we rely on an empire that has spent the last quarter of a century trying to destabilize the Attolian throne! For decades they have been trying to get a foothold on this land and you will _hand_ them one. What will you do if, gods forbid, Attolia is attacked and _the ambassador_ suggests sending away for a Mede ship—just a small one, captained by his brother perhaps, to offer assistance?”

“Accept it, I suppose,” Theodora said in a bored voice. She pulled his book closer and lifted up the cover, glancing over the index. “That is the point of allies, is it not?”

Eugenides stabbed his hook through the pages of the book and dragged it off the table. It fell with a clatter and a swirl of loose pages, and when Theodora looked up at him, her mask had slipped. She was angry—her dark eyes were even darker than usual and there was a mulish tilt to her chin. They stared at each other in a silent fury for a moment and then Eugenides declared, “I will be dead before I see a Mede army land on these shores.”

“Yes,” Theodora said coldly. “You will be.”

If she had slapped him, he could not have been more shocked.

“Well then, my dear,” he managed in a choked voice. “You can marry your Mede when you are queen, and not a _moment_ before.”

He swept out of the room and slammed the door. The collected attendants jumped at the sound—and then jumped again as an ink pot collided against the wood with a resounding smash.

—

An hour later, Eugenides had drunk two glasses of wine and shattered some of his own possessions, and felt no better for it. He was in his chambers, and he yanked open the door and snapped “Kamet,” at the nearest attendant. The erstwhile slave appeared so quickly that he must have been expecting the summons, although his face betrayed nothing.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Is this your idea of revenge?” Eugenides demanded.

“I did not tell Her Highness that she should marry the Mede ambassador.”

“And yet you seem to know all about it.”

“Your Majesty, I am your spymaster, and you met with your daughter in a public room with two dozen attendants and guards standing just outside. If I _didn’t_ know what you spoke of, it would be cause for concern.”

Eugenides stared at Kamet through narrowed eyes. He had never had cause to doubt Kamet’s loyalty before. He had been a very good friend for the past twenty years—but then, Eugenides had also been a very good friend to Sounis and Eddis and the magus and Costis, and that had never stopped _him_ from doing things they disliked, for the good of his kingdom and his queen. Kamet stared back placidly from behind his spectacles.

“She is concerned about the Continent,” Eugenides snapped. It was still an accusation. He didn’t _really_ believe Kamet would do anything deliberately to assist the Mede, but Kamet was nervous about the grumblings they had received lately. Theodora listened to him; she might have made the leap herself.

“As am I.”

“She thinks an alliance with the Medes is good politics.”

“I think an alliance with the Braels would be easier to secure, and has the added benefit of putting the Continent in a pincer, which would allow our new ally to defend us without marching an army _through_ us. There are two Braelish dignitaries on my lists for that reason, although I have not directed the princess to marry either of them because I am not stupid enough to believe she would listen!” There was a pause, and he tacked on “Your Majesty” at the end.

“I didn’t tell her who to marry,” Eugenides mumbled resentfully. “I told her who _not_ to marry.”

Kamet gave an exasperated huff and sat down on a nearby stool.

“In Attolia, people do not sit while the king is standing.”

“Well then, Your Majesty, you had better sit or hang me.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Costis,” Eugenides accused as he threw himself into a chair.

“Further proof that Your Majesty has no business dictating who should marry whom,” Kamet dismissed. He helped himself to a cup of wine, and spoke in a halting voice. “For what it’s worth, Your Majesty, I have reason to believe it would be—an affectionate alliance.”

“What, in the name of all the gods, do you mean by that?” Eugenides asked waspishly.

“I mean that the ambassador is head over heels in love with Her Highness, as everyone with eyes has noticed.”

Eugenides hadn’t noticed. He had seen them dance together on occasion, seen the ambassador turn awkward and quiet around her, occasionally burst into uncharacteristic chatter. He had assumed it was nervousness. The ambassador was nervous around _him_ , too. (Granted, Eugenides had certainly done more to deserve it. He had called the ambassador by twenty-two different names in the last five months, invited him to spar three times for nothing more than his own amusement, and once spent an entire dinner saying “pardon? speak up, won’t you?” whenever the man spoke until he was practically shouting.)

“Yes, but that’s nothing,” he dismissed. “Half the country is in love with Theo, and the other half should be. That doesn’t mean she’d be safe or happy. What would matter more is if _she_ was in—”

Something extremely fascinating out the window caught Kamet’s attention, and Eugenides was going to have a heart attack.

“Kamet,” he said in a strangled hiss. “Is she—?”

“I don’t know.”

“Costis. Get me—”

“Costis doesn’t know,” Kamet said. He crossed his legs and adjusted the drape of his robe. “The queen doesn’t know, the attendants don’t know, the guards don’t know, Saam doesn’t know, the Duchess of Roa doesn’t know, none of Their Highnesses the princes and princesses of Sounis know. I would be surprised if Ambassador Mardunya knew.”

“So many unknowns. It seems I do have cause to be concerned about my spymaster,” Eugenides noted, unable to manage more than a joke. The corners of Kamet’s mouth lifted.

“I am very good at my role, Your Majesty. But I am not her father. Theodora is independent and headstrong and exceedingly difficult to manage, and she does not confide easily in others. She confides in you.”

“Not lately,” Eugenides mumbled.

“Lately she has been a nineteen year old child. How often did you confide in _your_ father when _you_ were nineteen years old, Your Majesty?”

Eugenides frowned at Kamet for another minute, and then sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Where is she?”

“In the kitchen gardens.”

—

He found her in the orange trees. His right knee creaked as he swung himself up into the branches of the tree, and he grimaced. Theodora scowled at him, and they sat unhappily together for a moment in silence.

“Do you remember the old stories your nurse used to tell you?” Eugenides asked finally. “The one about heroes who were too stubborn and clever for their own good, and so the gods would punish them in some perfectly ironic way?”

“Is this the only argument you have left?” Theodora scoffed.

“Not an argument, no. An apology. In this particular story, _I_ am the too-stubborn-too-clever hero and _you_ are the gods’ just punishment. The answered prayer of everyone who has ever said ‘I hope someone puts that Eugenides in his place someday.’ And so here I am, with a daughter who is more stubborn and cleverer than I could ever hope to be.”

Theodora pursed her lips and plucked a leave from the tree. She started to tear it into pieces, segment by segment.

“That isn’t an apology.”

“It’s close enough.” Eugenides swallowed everything else he wanted to say, and tried to keep his voice neutral as he asked “Do you love him?”

Theodora’s fist tightened, and then she opened her hand and let the little green pieces flutter down to the earth.

“Queens don’t marry for love.”

“Your mother did.”

“Would she have married you if you were not the queen of Eddis’s cousin?” she asked shrewdly.

“No,” Eugenides admitted. “But she would not have married me if I was _only_ the queen of Eddis’s cousin.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does, sweetling. Your happiness matters.”

“I will be happy when I am queen, and when I have a husband who respects my sovereignty, who is intelligent without being arrogant, not so rash as to undermine me but not so nervous as to lose face in front of the barons, who is familiar with politics but with no lands or titles to distract him from Attolia, who will argue with me but only in private, who is generous and cautious and kind—”

“Who reads poetry when you recommend it,” Eugenides interrupted softly. “And buys you pearl earrings for your birthday.”

He reached up to touch them, and the pearls clinked together like river water over stones. Theodora’s voice had been rising in a determined crescendo, but she fell into an embarrassed silence and bit her lip.

The moment Kamet had suggested Theodora was in love, he had realized it was true, and he had wondered why she was trying to hide it. It was not, as Kamet had suggested, because she was nineteen. It was not because she was shy. It was because she was terrified. Because she had not been born the younger sister or distant cousin of the future king, but the crown princess of Attolia. Perhaps for the first decade of her life there had been some waiting for a prince to be born, but she had spent the second decade knowing that she alone was responsible for the future of the kingdom.

She had skipped classes with her tutors to sit in on meetings with her mother and with Kamet. She had learned to steal and climb walls under her father’s tutelage. She had snuck out of the palace with Costis to learn more about her city and its people. She was independent and adventurous and stubborn, but always with her coronation in the back of her mind. The first thing she had ever _really_ done for herself, her first act of true rebellion, was to fall in love. Of course she couldn’t admit it.

Eugenides touched his hand to her cheek.

“Look at me, Theo.” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and she took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “Whether married or single, whether your husband is a wise man or a fool, whether he is from Mede or Sounis or Nimbia beyond the sea, whether marrying him is good politics or not... You will be a _great_ queen.”

“Never as good as Mother,” she said in a whisper. She swallowed thickly. “Never as good as you.”

He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, as if he could banish the tears before they fell.

“Better.”

He had dreamed of Hephestia’s court, of the great goddess sitting on her throne, draped in a red peplos, with a baby resting in her lap. In the dream he had snatched her up and run as fast as he could, and he had woken up with his heart pounding in his ears and terror suffusing his limbs.

Eugenides breathed in deeply and thought he could smell orange blossoms, although the time for them was several months’ past. He remembered his own father’s reaction to _his_ choice of spouse and almost grinned.

“Do you love him?” he repeated. Theodora covered his hand with her own.

“Yes,” she said, apprehensive and bewildered and sure.

“Good.” He swallowed. “And he—he loves you?” he asked in a stern voice that promised retribution for the young man in question if the answer was unfavorable. Theodora giggled.

“Yes, Baba. Not that he has ever been so improper as to say so,” she added with a disdainful sniff, tossing her curls back. “But I would say there is no doubt.”

“Good,” Eugenides repeated. He dropped his hand and let out a wistful sigh. “Sometimes you remind me so much of your grandmother,” he said. Theodora quirked her head, and he elaborated: “They used to call her Queen Thief—because she stole people’s hearts. And sometimes their valuables, but she would look at them just the way you’re looking at me now, and how could anyone resist…?  I suppose they will have to call you the Thief Queen.”

“Yes,” Theodora said. “They will.”

She opened her fist to reveal his seal ring sitting on her palm and, with a lofty smile, slipped it onto her thumb.


End file.
